


Stitched Up

by ShadowPhoenixRider



Series: Walk on the Wild Side [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Warlords of Draenor - Freeform, thinking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 07:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10692384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowPhoenixRider/pseuds/ShadowPhoenixRider
Summary: After narrowly avoiding being assassinated (for the second time, no less), Khadgar just wants to get back to work hunting down Gul'dan. Easier said than done, when the Archmage has a lot on his mind...





	Stitched Up

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote something off the top of my head, and it suddenly became canon! So we're going back to Draenor to when Draggka and Khadgar were still bumbling around each other. Hope you enjoy!

Khadgar was not a man who got angry easily or quickly. 

But when his robes tugged on the sutures in his back for about the sixth time, the archmage had to clench his fists to resist the urge to try to pluck the damn things out of his skin.

He couldn’t do that, of course. He needed his stab wounds to heal and he was fairly sure Cordana would probably double-stitch them in revenge if he managed to pull them out (was it possible to do that to wounds?). Oh, what he wouldn’t give for the ability to regenerate like a troll and not have to worry.

Like Draggka.

The archmage felt his train of thought come to a crashing halt, and a sliver of...embarrassed guilt curled through him. He really shouldn’t have been thinking about the Darkspear hunter, especially since she was starting to occupy most of his mind instead of the more important things, like dealing with Gul’dan, and the Iron Horde.

And yet, he couldn’t stop. No matter how many times he reminded himself that no-one could love an old man such as himself, and that there could definitely never be anything good coming out of falling for a member of the Horde (and a troll, at that), Khadgar found his mind meandering back to her.

It was certainly better than thinking about how fucking annoying those damn sutures were and how he couldn’t pull them out. And really, the two thoughts were linked.

The first time Garona ( _Alt-Garona,_ Khadgar reminded himself) had attempted to kill him, she’d given herself away by decking both Draggka and her raptor companion Spike over the head; it’d given him the warning he needed to freeze himself in a trusty block of ice, thwarting her attempt and letting the Warden send the would-be assassin packing. 

Cordana had given her usual spiel that he should have stayed at Frostwall like some coddled child, but Khadgar had been more concerned for Draggka. Friendly concern, of course. Not the way his heart had chilled in his chest when he saw her head jerk when she’d been struck, bright orange eyes going briefly, sickeningly blank in her concussion. Thank the Light that such phenomena were just inconveniences for her race, and were easily shaken off.

The second time, however, he was not so lucky. Garona had gone for him first, and by the time he’d realized something was amiss, he was being stabbed, the fel-poison burning as it entered his blood.

His memory got blurry from that point on, his mind clearly trying to spare him from the traumatic event of almost dying, but he remembered some things with surprising clarity. Some things...that made him thoughtful.

The wounds began to itch again, and Khadgar grumbled, rolling his shoulders with displeasure, resisting the urge to reach around and scratch at them. Mostly because every time he did, Cordana caught him and gave him a withering look until he stopped, though she never told him how else he could relieve the sensation. Maybe next time he’d rub up against a wall, as embarrassing as that would look; he had to itch them somehow!

The archmage began to think back to the day again, forcibly shifting his mind away from the silk holding his broken skin together. Although he’d never recommend anyone to be stabbed, Khadgar had found that so much better than the poisoning. The stabbing, though painful, had been mercifully brief. The poisoning had not.

It had hurt, like fire burning him up from the inside out, and he felt his strength draining against his will. It had reminded him of when Medivh ( _Sargeras)_ had rapidly aged him, except instead of having his lifeforce ripped from him in one go, it had been pulled it out of him, as if someone was unravelling a tunic by a single thread. He’d found himself starting to struggle for breath, having to gasp and heave for air.

But he remembered things; fragments, more than anything, considering he was fighting for his life and his vision had soon blurred and muddied. 

He’d seen the shock in Draggka’s eyes as he’d fallen, heard the angry roar of her raptor. Cordana shouting for the hunter to go after Garona, the Warden’s helmet filling his vision and her quiet urging for him to hold on (he’d tried to reply with something witty, but his breath had already started going). Suddenly Jaina being there and her being cross at him (Khadgar got this distinct impression he was making a habit of upsetting women). Yelling, that for once wasn’t directed at him. 

And then Draggka. He knew it was her because she was blue, with a shock of red on her head and by her sides. She’d grasped his head with her hand (two fingers, one thumb), and pushed the edge of a vial between his lips, urging him to drink. 

He’d gulped at the thick liquid greedily as he could manage, Draggka helping by tilting his head back to let gravity aid him. And that’s when he’d heard Cordana speak.

“ _Draggka, you’ve been wounded. You’re poisoned too!”  
_

_“I be a troll. I’ll live. De Archmage needs dis more den me.”  
_

She’d not stopped until Khadgar felt Cordana pull the vial away from him and almost scold Draggka into taking her share. The antidote had worked fast from there, the burning subsiding and his breath slowly returning to him. He remembered everything else clearly from there, from him ordering the Warden to stitch his wounds, briefly arguing with Jaina about working with the Horde, using his power to upgrade the troll’s ring.

Trying to get his head around the strange, tight knot of feelings he’d felt in his chest ever since.

The archmage toyed with an Apexis crystal he’d left on his desk. He couldn’t stop thinking about those words, and what they meant. Obviously, it was logical choice; she was a troll, resistant to poisons and blessed with quick wound regeneration, and he was a human and wasn’t. It made perfect sense that he would be prioritised.

And yet, the shock in her eyes when he’d gone down, the sheer relief on her face when he’d sat upright, the feel of her hand on his face. A strong grip, brokering no argument, with calloused fingertips and the groove her bowstring had worn into her skin. It was quite the intimate touch, when she could have just held his chin (or not touched him at all), and he swore his skin tingled where she’d touched him for a while after.

Did...did she care for him?

As a friend, of course. He’d said he viewed her as much in Talador, and she’d returned the sentiment, that one day that Spike had almost knocked her into the stream and he’d caught her and it had all gotten very awkward. They’d talked about all sorts of things together, from the innocuous ‘what kind of day do you like the best’ to the more dangerous ’what was being in Pandaria like?’. He’d even managed to get her to talk about her Loa and culture, something he was sure no troll had volunteered so easily (he’d been tempted to note it all down, but he figured she might take offence).

After all, she was Horde, and very aware of her factions’ recent actions. Painfully aware; it wasn’t hard to see her guilt in her hate for Garrosh, especially as she spoke more about what had happened to the Darkspear tribe under the orc’s rule. The mage was getting the impression that there was something amiss with the troll herself, something he’d glimpsed in the Garona he knew well. Something hurt, something damaged. It had made Khadgar quietly seethe and cultivate a further deep dislike of the orc, though he’d put it down to seeing a friend hurt and wanting the perpetrator to pay (though for some reason, Garrosh’s death didn’t really seem like such a bad idea).

She was definitely a friend. She could be, never would be, anything more than that. They were on different sides. She was a champion and hero in her own right, looked up to by her people, and the chances that she’d look in his direction and see something she liked was zero. Nothing. Nil. Nada. 

And yet Khadgar could _not_ shake the thought from his head. The thought that she’d given him the antidote first because she cared enough to sacrifice herself for him. That she put her own life before his without hesitation. And somehow that shook him. His natural reaction was a rejection; _she shouldn’t throw her life away for me, I have nothing to offer._ But there was something else.

A fear of losing her.

The fear was not unusual. Its strength was. The thought alone was enough to make his heart ache and his chest a little too tight. But it didn’t make sense, she was just a friend-

Unless she wasn’t.

For once, the irritating yank of one of the silken threads getting caught was a welcome break out of his thoughts. Khadgar did not want to entertain the possibility that he maybe had feelings that were more than just admiration, and interest in the troll hunter. Khadgar thoroughly enjoyed their verbal sparring whenever she engaged him, and her company was always welcome. Enough that he liked to seek it out, and her raptor didn’t seem to mind; indeed, Spike would often lead Khadgar to where his companion was, or lead her to him.

Hold on.

The archmage frowned. Spike often guided the two together. He’d pushed the mage into the Frostfire snow one time after leading him to the hunter. It was Spike’s fault that Draggka had almost fallen into the stream, and he’d slammed into Khadgar’s legs that one time in Frostwall when-

_Is her raptor trying to...matchmake us?_

He shook his head rapidly. No no, that couldn’t be it; he was reading way too much into the creature’s behaviour. But Spike had always seemed very calm around him, when he’d expected the beast to be hostile to him. And that time the mage had fallen into the troll...He, he wanted to - he’d almost kissed her-

Khadgar groaned, burying his head in his hands. 

_I have a crush on Draggka._

Just what he needed. A stupid infatuation when he had to have a clear mind to find and stop Gul’dan. He wasn’t a fresh-faced initiate just entering puberty; he was in his forties! He thought he was well past fawning crushes, but clearly his heart thought otherwise.

The archmage sighed. He just hoped it would all peter out soon, and he could stop embarrassing himself. And her. The last thing she needed was him behaving like a pillock because his hormones thought now was the most appropriate time to be having a party. He had stuff to do, he had to work out a way to free Alt-Garona from Gul’dan’s control.

Khadgar uttered a curse as his wounds were pulled again, the need to scratch the damaged skin flaring to life once more. And he was going to pull those bloody sutures out if it was the last thing he did!


End file.
